


right round

by flybbfly



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybbfly/pseuds/flybbfly
Summary: Neil gives Andrew a blowjob for the first time.That's it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Generally I avoid writing porn bc I always go back to it after and think, wow, you really wrote that really bad porn, you really did that—but I'm trying to get out of my comfort zone and get better at descriptions of physical action. Also, an anon requested an andreil sex scene, so.

It happens for the first time a few years after “nothing” starts, after they've traded nearly all their truths but crossed only a few sexual bases, when Andrew is in Atlanta for his first year playing professional exy and Neil is still in Palmetto for his last year captaining a college team.

First it's phone sex, something it takes them weeks to get down. As it turns out, listening to each other narrate their own masturbation is enough for both of them—the talk never gets much dirtier than, “I'm about to finish” and “me too,” until one day Neil lets slip, “I want to blow you.”

Andrew doesn't say anything in response, and Neil freezes, a hand wrapped around his own cock and his heart racing with some combination of arousal and terror at having said the wrong thing, but then Andrew's groan comes from the other line, low and guttural.

Phone sex gets more interesting after that—Neil babbles into the phone whatever fantasy he has, and Andrew responds with either silence or small noises of pleasure, the latter of which make Neil's breath catch in his throat. 

Then it's Neil saying it during clear-headed conversation over the phone: “I'm just asking for a yes or no,” he says. “If you say no, I won't ask again. If you say yes, we can talk about it.”

Andrew doesn't say anything for a full minute, but then finally: “Okay.”

“That's not a yes, Andrew.”

“It is not a no, either.”

“Okay,” Neil says. 

Then Andrew visits Neil in Palmetto—or, more accurately, he drives to Palmetto, picks Neil up without leaving his car, and zips right back down the highway to Columbia. They make small talk in the car, or at least their version of small talk, which is mostly Neil talking about exy and Andrew only responding with eyebrow quirks and dirty looks.

“How is it your mind has only grown more one track in the past five months?” Andrew says during a gap in Neil's onslaught.

“Without my usual distractions, there's not much else to pay attention to,” Neil says, watching Andrew drive, the fingers of one hand wrapped around the steering wheel while the other hangs out the window, cigarette smoke billowing from it. Andrew drives recklessly, but he rarely takes his eyes off the road. Neil doesn't know if it's for safety purposes or if he just likes looking at it. 

Once they get to the house in Columbia—there's a “for sale” sign on the front lawn, all proceeds to be funneled into Aaron's med school payments since neither Nicky nor Andrew need the money—Neil goes straight to the kitchen. He starts with the liquor cabinet, unscrewing a bottle of whiskey and pouring two drinks.

There are the usual sounds of Andrew settling in a place: his bag gets dropped somewhere between the front hall and the kitchen. His keys clatter against some flat surface. His shoes slide off. He pads into the kitchen in his socks and reaches for one of the glasses.

They drink in silence, and Neil refills them. They drink again. Neil lifts the bottle, but Andrew says, “It's too early to get drunk.”

“Since when do you wait for happy hour?”

“Since when do you think?”

Neil feels the corner of his lip quirk up. “Yes or no?” 

Andrew kisses him instead of answering, dragging him forward by the collar of his shirt and leaning against the counter.

It took a long time—maybe two full years—for Andrew to reach a point where he didn't mind being cornered against something, not if he was cornered by Neil.

He's cornered now, or at least crowded up, pressed against the kitchen island by the weight of Neil's body. He seems to like it based on how little he's complaining, which makes Neil smile against Andrew's lips and then break away for a moment to focus on Andrew's neck.

Andrew's head falls back, a tiny lapse in control, and he shivers against the heat of Neil's mouth, his fingers scrabbling at the buttons on the front of Neil's shirt and briefly giving up altogether when Neil kisses the spot Andrew likes right on the pulse point by his ear.

“I want to blow you,” Neil says, more breathy than he means, and Andrew goes still.

No, not completely still. His finger brushes against a spot on Neil's hipbone, back and forth, and Neil can barely feel it through the leather of his belt and the denim of his pants, but that it's there means that Andrew is still here with him.

“Not here,” Andrew says. “In the bedroom.”

It's a very business-like trip to the bedroom, if only because Andrew doesn't ever rush and Neil isn't exactly going to sprint when Andrew is taking purposeful, normal steps.

Once they get in there, though, all pretense drops. Andrew presses Neil into the bed, a hand on each shoulder, knees on either side of Neil's hips, and they're really never going to get to the main event if Andrew keeps kissing Neil like this, all fire, like they're fighting a war.

But then Andrew shifts. He gets off Neil, pulls off his t-shirt and props himself up on some pillows so that he's half-sitting, half-lying. 

Neil is too shocked to say or do anything other then push up on one arm to kiss Andrew. He can't believe Andrew is letting him do even this—though they've progressed to nudity, it's still rare, Andrew preferring to be as covered as possible. 

The angle is awkward. Neil's neck twists uncomfortably, and Andrew doesn't move more than he needs to, just knots a hand in Neil's hair and waits for Neil to fix it.

Separating from Andrew—even to shift closer to him, so that Neil is perched diagonally across the bed with a hand on either side of Andrew's head—is a pain. Neil thinks he'd be happy if he never had to do it again.

“Can I touch your chest?” Neil says.

Andrew looks up at him, eyes hooded. “Yes,” he says. “Don't go lower yet.”

Neil obeys, bending to kiss Andrew while he slides a hand down Andrew's front, shoulder to navel, taking in the way Andrew shudders when Neil's hand passes over his nipple. Neil focuses on that while Andrew bites up into his mouth, a flick over the nipple and then a pinch, just to see how Andrew will react.

Andrew doesn't, generally, talk during sex. He does this time, though, a “fuck” mumbled under his breath and against Neil's jaw that makes Neil momentarily lose focus, return all his attention to Andrew's mouth and teeth and tongue. Evidently, Andrew agrees, because he tugs Neil closer with his entire arm around the back of Neil's neck. 

Neil kisses him open-mouthed, more gasp than tongue. He tries to say something—“Is that good?”--but it devolves into meaninglessness as soon as Andrew's fingers dip under the hem of Neil's half-opened shirt and skim over Neil's stomach and around to his back. 

“I want to,” Neil says, but he can't finish the sentence, just tugs away from Andrew's mouth to drop his head lower, to his chest. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

This isn't new, either, but it's still novel. That Andrew likes his nipples played with was a surprise to both of them when they first discovered it, but it happens so rarely that it's like the first time every time.

Neil takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks on it, just a little, just gently, because Andrew likes rough make outs but not rough sex, and Andrew moans, arching his back up into Neil's mouth and curling a hand into Neil's hair. His fingers stay knotted there a moment, until Neil trades his mouth for his hand and moves to the other nipple, and then Andrew just strokes Neil's hair with one hand and clutches at the sheets with the other. 

It's just that for a few minutes—maybe longer. Neil isn't keeping track—and then Andrew says, “I want you to blow me.”

Neil freezes and looks up at Andrew, who just stares back at him coolly. Actually, not coolly—his pupils are blown and his lips are swollen and his cheeks are flushed. He looks anything but cool, but he also doesn't look like he's about to have a panic attack, which is why Neil reaches for Andrew's waistband.

“Yes or no?” he says.

“Yes,” Andrew says, lifting his hips off the bed.

Neil pulls Andrew's sweatpants and underwear off dispassionately and drops them on the floor, then rests a hand on Andrew's hip to get him to drop back down. He stares at Andrew's cock for a moment, suddenly unsure of himself for the first time. It's not like it's the first time he's had contact with it, but it'll definitely be the first time he's sucked Andrew off. 

“Do you need a guidebook?” Andrew says. When Neil looks up, his teeth are clenched.

“I think I'll be all right, but if you want to order me around, that works for me too.” 

Andrew bucks impatiently against Neil's hand. “Get on with it.”

Neil almost laughs. He bends down again, steadies himself, and glances back up at Andrew.

“Andrew,” he says.

“It's still yes.”

Neil wraps a hand loosely around the base of Andrew's cock and waits for a reaction. Andrew's hips thrust up into it, and Neil returns his spare hand to one of the to hold him down. Not enough to keep him there—just enough to remind him to stay put. 

Then he takes a deep breath and takes as much of Andrew's length into his mouth as he can. He meets his own hand with his lips, relaxes a little, and pulls back again, glancing up at Andrew through his lashes. 

Andrew is staring at Neil like he's never seen him before, both hands curled in the sheets. Neil can't believe he's allowed this—Andrew has gotten him off too many times to count, but Neil's only been able to reciprocate a few dozen times over years. More frequently recently, especially since Andrew graduated, but he never imagined this could be real.

“You can touch me, you know,” Neil says. “You aren't going to break me.”

At once, Andrew does, returning one of his hands to Neil's hair just as Neil returns to the matter at hand, trying to remember how Andrew makes this good. He looked up tips earlier, but none of them come to mind just now, so he matches the rhythms of his hand and mouth and keeps paying attention to what makes Andrew's hand still in its strokes of Neil's head. 

It's not like Neil imagined, not really. It's better—he didn't expect Andrew's expression to be quite so gone, didn't expect Andrew's half-stifled moans or the upticks of his hips. He finds that he doesn't mind the taste, either, that it's more like kissing after a workout than anything else, and he can put up with a little musk if Andrew will keep making those sounds.

“That's—good,” Andrew says, when Neil pauses to focus on the head of Andrew's dick, running his tongue along the underside of the rim, and then when Neil takes Andrew's dick out of his mouth entirely and just nuzzles Andrew's thigh with his face, Andrew's hand settles on Neil's other cheek, thumb brushing against the scar there, almost a caress. Neil kisses the side of Andrew's cock without planning to, just because it seems like the thing to do, and Andrew shivers with his entire body and returns his hand to Neil's hair.

It's as good an excuse as any for Neil to go back to his blowjob, and he does, taking in as much of Andrew as he can—more than before now that he knows Andrew likes it—and feeling with his free hand the helpless little thrusts Andrew's hips keep making upward until they get erratic enough that Neil knows what's coming.

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil has definitely never heard his name sound like that in Andrew's mouth, unhinged, desperate, like if Neil were to leave right now Andrew wouldn't recover. If it were any other situation, Neil thinks, he'd hate it.

But in this one? 

Neil takes Andrew as far as he can, stopping just short of making himself gag, and then slowly drags himself off just to hear Andrew whine his name again. Back down, back up, back down, slowly and then quickly again, until Andrew's fingers brush the side of Neil's face again and his hips buck up hard enough to dislodge Neil's hand.

“I'm going to come,” Andrew says, voice torn apart, and Neil stays where he is, guiding Andrew through it with his hand and mouth.

Spitting would take too much effort, and there's no nearby vessel, so Neil swallows and then looks up at Andrew, blinking.

“That was fun,” Neil says. His voice comes out hoarse, and Andrew just stares back at him for a moment, for once speechless. “Do you want me to go?” That was what used to happen, Andrew disappearing into another room after he came, but it's been a while since they've needed that.

“No,” Andrew says. “Your shirt is still on. Come here.”

Neil goes there, lets Andrew drag him down for a kiss. He pulls Neil closer and reaches for Neil's jeans, undoing the belt and fly and then shoving them off unceremoniously.

It takes barely any time to get Neil off, even with Neil distracting Andrew with neck kisses, and he comes all over both of their stomachs.

“Not as tidy as my method,” Neil says into Andrew's neck, and Andrew shivers against him and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> It's funny because for the first like 1000 words you can actually read me stalling. 
> 
> Shouts to [Flo Rida ft. Ke$ha](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CcCw1ggftuQ) for the title & the honestly legendary song.
> 
> Come talk me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com/))! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo.


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